Valentine's Day-- probably my least favorite holiday of all. I have never been a fan of this day. In High School, I remember thinking how banal this holiday was as my friends in relationships got balloons, flowers, and chocolate delivered at school while the rest of us singles, looked longingly at the make-shift delivery tables in the lunchroom that held all the valentine deliveries. To make matters worse, the lunchroom was the center of our school, so you could not go anywhere in our school without being reminded of all this "love" that was going on without you.
Sure, I got a Valentine's card one year. It was from "that kid" in our class. I read the mushy card and felt sick to my stomach. "I hate Valentine's Day" I remember muttering under my breath as I shoved the card into my backpack.
Sure, I got asked out another year. It was from "the other kid" in our class. He came to my house and politely rang the doorbell. I remember saying to him, "James, the answer is still no." (He had asked me out the previous year.) In hindsight, I feel like such a jerk.
I wish I could say that I felt differently about Valentine's Day now that I am happily married to a great guy. But you know what-- I am still not a fan of Valentine's Day. It seems that with a relationship comes unrealistic expectations of what the man of your dreams should do for you because of his passionate love for you. Well you know what? My husband is many things, but one thing he is not is a mind reader. The year I wanted to go bowling, he cooked us steak at home. The year I want to save money, he books us a dinner out. On and on the list goes of my over the top expectations.
I think this year I will do much better with Valentine's Day if I get rid of all expectations and treat it as any other day, a day to be enjoyed for what it is-nothing more, nothing less. If I can shield my heart from all these unrealistic expectations of what culture tells me "true love" should look like, I think I will do alright and maybe even enjoy this day spent with my best friend.
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